Iris Potter
by Gossamer Glass Jellyfish
Summary: Harry James Potter is born a girl named Iris Euphemia. The Dursleys always wanted a daughter. Strangely, this does not lead to a happy home life. Will eventually be split into two alternate universes: one where the end pairing is Draco Malfoy, one where the end pairing is Tom Riddle (NOT Lord Voldemort). NonDark FemHarry.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes: This story is set in the twenty-first century._

 _ _It is a female version of sorts of my other story, Darius Potter. As you can probably tell, I'm much more decisive of final pairings with Iris than I am with Darius. I have Iris's ending all planned out. Darius readers, I'll be interested to see what you think of the other changes…_ _

* * *

_"Never put your faith in a Prince. When you require a miracle, trust in a Witch."_

\- Catherynne M. Valente

1.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley sat down across the kitchen table from each other with cups of tea, and had a calm, rational discussion. The Dursleys liked to think of themselves as reasonable people. They had panicked at first when they'd found the baby girl left on their doorstep, then dealt with upset, mixed feelings and grief upon reading the letter she'd come with.

But they were calmer now, and so they were sitting at the kitchen table, the baby on the table between them and their son Dudley in his high chair off to the side.

"Iris Euphemia Potter…" Petunia reflected, troubled, staring down at her infant niece.

"We are not having a witch in the house," said Vernon firmly. "Magic is completely unconscionable."

"Agreed," said Petunia. "But…"

"But what?"

"Well… we always wanted a daughter," said Petunia, wincing. "A baby girl. Now we have one." The girl had Lily's almond shaped bright green eyes. Petunia told herself she was not thinking of having a second child Lily when she said these words.

"It's true, you always did want a girl," Vernon admitted.

"Exactly. A perfect, obedient little girl to make in my own image," said Petunia eagerly, sitting forward.

"And you think she can provide that? What about the magic?" said Vernon skeptically.

"We could save Iris from her magic," said Petunia. "Stamp it out of her. It's only the moral thing to do."

"Yes, that might work," said Vernon, warming to the idea. "She would have to lead a very controlled life, of course. All school, chores, and either with a babysitter or inside her own home. Very plain food, perfect grades, no friends. And no imagination - nothing that could lead to magic."

"Yet she would be treated well. Dudley, her surrogate brother of sorts, would protect her while at school," said Petunia.

"Exactly. Any son of mine could handle manly sibling duty," said Vernon proudly.

"And she could have nice clothes and a cute little hairstyle…" Petunia was gushing now. "And an adorable pink bedroom."

"And her perfect manners and grades and properly demure mindset could be shown off at dinner parties with my clients," said Vernon. "With any luck, she'd grow up to a perfectly normal, sensible secretary, school teacher, or housewife."

"Precisely," said Petunia crisply. "Do you see now what I mean?"

"Yes… I rather like this idea a lot, Pet…" said Vernon thoughtfully. "Iris can become our daughter. And it is our parental duty to save her from her own freakishness."

Petunia smiled, congratulating herself on her good idea and her understanding husband.

And thus, Iris Potter completed the perfect little Dursley family. This caused a radical shift not only in her own life… but in her cousin's.

* * *

Six Years Later

Mrs Higgins was a school counselor at St Grogory's, a primary school. She dealt with the girls. Boys always got male counselors, girls always got female counselors, unless a different arrangement was requested.

And right now Iris Potter was sitting, silent and shy and expressionless, her hands folded, across from Mrs Higgins in her office.

"Iris, you seem to be having trouble making friends in school," said Mrs Higgins. "Are you having problems with the other children?"

"My cousin Dudley is there to protect me from distractions like friends," said Iris matter-of-factly.

Dudley Dursley was indeed a large, intimidating, silent, serious boy. He was completely dedicated to his cousin and he never made any friends either, as he was always by Iris's side. They shared everything with one another.

"Your grades are very good," said Mrs Higgins, probing further. "Everyone tells me you're an excellent student. Intelligent, clever, inquisitive, curious, focused, and hardworking."

"Perfect grades are expected of me," said Iris, still in that matter-of-fact tone of voice. "As are perfect manners. I'm also given plenty of around the house chores."

"Is this all enforced by your aunt and uncle?" said Mrs Higgins, worried.

"Yes. I am to put in a good showing at dinner parties," said Iris. There was no real emotion to her when she spoke.

Iris was indeed a very pretty girl. She was dressed nicely in Winter-shaded clothing that went well with her pale skin. Her wild black curls were drawn into a bun with a few loose curls bouncing around her face. And her eyes were quite striking.

"You look very pretty," said Mrs Higgins. "Does that help?"

"Yes," said Iris. "My fringe hides the scar on my forehead." She lifted blunt bangs to reveal a lightning bolt shaped scar. "And I had eye surgery two years ago to get rid of my bad eyesight. I like using scented bubble baths, lotions, candles, and body wash, so I always smell nice too," she added, smiling for the first time.

"So you like scented things. What's your favorite food?" said Mrs Higgins.

"I am only allowed very plain food, Mrs Higgins," said Iris.

"What do you do for fun?"

"I am never taken out of the house or anywhere fun," said Iris, "though I did quite enjoy swimming and bicycling lessons. I am also not allowed to play video games, read imaginative fiction, or watch television. The only place besides my house that I ever go is Mrs Figg's to be babysat, and I am also expected to do chores there. Mrs Figg is old and ailing, you see, and needs my help."

She was obviously parroting things her aunt and uncle had said almost eerily.

"What is your bedroom like?" asked Mrs Higgins. "Do you have any posters or photographs or drawings up on the walls for example?"

"I have a very nice bedroom with a big bed. It's decorated in hot pink colors and I always make sure it's perfectly neat," said Iris proudly.

"Oh yes? You keep your things very tidy?"

"Yes, ma'am. Aunt Petunia taught me. She taught me how to make food, too, and sometimes I help her with her flowers in the front garden."

"That sounds very nice," said Mrs Higgins. "What sorts of toys do you have?"

"I am not allowed toys, ma'am," said Iris simply.

"You live with your aunt and uncle, correct? Where are your parents?" asked Mrs Higgins.

"They died in a car accident when I was a baby, ma'am," said Iris. "That's where I got the scar on my forehead."

"What were they like? Do you look like them?"

"They are never to be discussed. There are no pictures of them in the house," said Iris. It was hard to tell how she felt about this. She was mostly silent except when asked a direct question, and completely repressed. "There are pictures of me and Dudley in the house. But no pictures of my parents."

"What were their names?"

"I don't know, ma'am." Iris stared straight ahead of herself, toneless.

"Yours is a very controlled environment, isn't it, Iris?" said Mrs Higgins kindly.

"Even my mail is opened for me, ma'am," said Iris stoically.

"What do you see yourself doing in your future?"

"I have been told I will either become a secretary, a school teacher, or a housewife," said Iris calmly.

"I see," said Mrs Higgins, troubled. She put Iris through a few basic tests, and then decided it was time to call in the Dursleys and talk to them.

* * *

"Mr and Mrs Dursley, I must be blunt with you," said Mrs Higgins when the Dursleys had sat down across from her two days later. "Some of the things Iris has said trouble me.

"Her life should not be so controlled. She needs fun, and friends, and she needs information about her parents. She needs a life, not just an existence."

"Iris's health is delicate," said Petunia passionately. "Everything we do is for the good of her health."

"And her parents were unemployed drunks," Vernon rumbled. "We're trying to protect her from the disaster that was her parentage."

"What about your son? He deserves a childhood as well. Does he really need to be so serious and look after Iris all the time?" Mrs Higgins pressed.

"If you're implying that any child of mine isn't capable of looking after his own sister -!" Vernon began angrily.

It was like talking to a brick wall. Mrs Higgins sighed, pinching her nose and closing her eyes. "I'm sure you have your reasons," she said, trying to keep a hold on her temper. "But it does neither of the children any good.

"At the very least, Iris needs hobbies. Ways to express herself, things she enjoys, something to talk about besides her good grades at the dinner parties you supposedly care about so much," Mrs Higgins added sarcastically. "I've taken the liberty of giving her a personality test. Iris is an ISFP. Probably the only reason you haven't had more rebellion from her is because she's so quiet, introverted, expressionless, and heart-based. She wants to get along. She's also only a child yet.

"Let me explain ISFPs to you," said Mrs Higgins when the Dursleys looked confused. "They are very reserved people, but they feel things and have inspirations very keenly. They express themselves best, not in person, but in their artistic works. If they find no artistic way to express themselves, their personality simply never comes out, and they end up unhappy and no one knows them.

"She needs an art through which to express herself."

"We don't approve of art and imagination," said Petunia immediately, and Vernon nodded.

"With all due respect, not all art involves surrealist painting, Mrs Dursley," said Mrs Higgins. "Art is any technique the next move of which is a free variable. Sports are arts. Anything technical, anything in business, anything creative. It's all artwork.

"She needs an art. I'm telling you, she needs a way to let people know who she is."

* * *

Vernon and Petunia took this last piece of advice seriously. They did want their daughter to be happy, after all. And having a hobby was not such an unreasonable thing, as long as it didn't encourage Iris's magic.

So they sat down and had another rational discussion.

"There are two main qualifications," said Vernon. "The hobbies," he refused to call them arts, "must be properly feminine and good accomplishments. And they must not encourage imaginative, off the ground, impossibilities thinking. You know, all that rubbish."

"I have some ideas for things she could try," said Petunia. "Dance, figure skating, gourmet cooking, and classical music - piano, violin, and voice. What do you think?"

"I think those are all perfectly acceptable ideas," said Vernon. "They would look good in any accomplished young woman. But no songwriting!"

"Agreed. We could even buy her her own instruments. She is our daughter, after all," said Petunia. "I believe she's worth the expenditure."

* * *

Iris fell asleep at the piano in the sitting room while practicing late one night.

Iris was a slight, quick, graceful girl who was blessed with natural intelligence and was good at putting long, lonely hours of practice into a single art. She did genuinely enjoy the hobbies she'd been assigned. The gourmet cooking even got her excellent food (though no dessert).

But sometimes too much practice was expected from her and too many expectations were placed on her. This, like her anxiety over getting good grades, left her with a guilt complex.

Suddenly, Aunt Petunia shook her awake. Iris looked up and gasped, realizing she'd fallen asleep.

"We pay good money for these lessons you're sleeping over," Aunt Petunia snapped. "I would expect you to have a little better attitude while practicing something you enjoy!" She bustled out of the sitting room.

Young, tired, overwrought, and guilty, Iris felt tears fill her eyes. She put her face in her hands and began sobbing… when suddenly, she heard the piano begin playing a soothing little tune. She looked up in surprise, tear tracks still on her face -

And she saw the piano playing itself. It had played in response to her emotions.

Iris stared, and realized she felt a tingling up and down her body, a prickling in the back of her neck, and it was leaking off into the piano. Somehow, something in her body was making the piano play itself.

Iris would learn to term this power she had found "magic." She would also come to realize that some of it leaked up into her head when she slept - forming what she called "future dreams."

She hid these things instinctively from her aunt and uncle, but used them to make her life better and soothe herself in secret for many years - to cheer herself up when alone, or to satisfy herself by doing imaginative creative things, or to sneak chocolate sweets, for example. Her dreams were also useful in predicting what was to come in her life, though they did not always come true.

She also began writing songs in secret, hidden from her aunt and uncle. She hid the sheet music underneath the loose floorboard in her bedroom. She was allowed an iPod, iPhone, and laptop - she mostly used the Internet to watch ASMR videos to help herself get to sleep, or stand-up comedy routines, as she had a dry, incisive wit - and so she just didn't tell her aunt and uncle what kind of music she bought on iTunes. It was one of the only things they never looked into. Iris formed a deep, profound love for music of all kinds.

Secretly, even as a young girl, Iris wanted more in life. She wanted to use her good grades to get a high status career, achievement, money, travel, and adventure. She wanted to see the world! She felt trapped and imprisoned with the Dursleys, and realized she disliked it. But she didn't know how to escape, and in any case, she felt bad feeling that way about her surrogate parents.

Suffice it to say, Iris's imagination was not repressed quite as successfully as the Dursleys had hoped.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Sunlight leaked onto the suburb of Little Whinging and onto Privet Drive, trickling into the Dursleys' tidy front gardens, low garden wall, and white front gate, over the flower beds and the nicely trimmed hedges. It crept through the windows, past the window curtains, and into the living room, with its white piled carpets, red-brick fireplace, grand piano, and flowers in ugly little vases on end tables, over the flat screen television and the shining framed pictures over the mantel piece and on the walls. Most of them contained two children: a large blond boy, often portrayed doing wrestling, and a small black-haired girl, often portrayed at dance, figure skating, and music recitals.

Ten-year-old Iris Potter was still asleep in her vast, impeccably neat, character-less pink bedroom, but she was awoken around 6 AM by her alarm. Her aunt and uncle would not allow her to sleep in and avoid the daily chores, not even on weekends, and so she had just become used to waking up immediately at 6 AM.

She brushed the cobwebs of her dreams out of her head - another future dream, she thought, this one involving a massive brown snake - and slid out of bed, getting dressed for the day. Pretty little skirt and ruffled blouse, tights and shiny shoes, hair brushed and up in its bun, face washed and teeth brushed. She went downstairs, and paused in surprise. A small pile of wrapped presents was on the kitchen table.

That was right, it was Dudley's eleventh birthday today.

She set about making a special birthday breakfast: blueberry coconut pancakes with extra cream, tea, coffee, and orange juice. She used little shots of magic here and there to make her job easier, while no one was around to see - having several items float around her so she was making everything at once, for example, and flicking her hand to have the caffeine or the pancakes heat faster.

Iris had learned she could do many things with her magic, and using it was one of the things she enjoyed most in life. She could change appearance - size and color and shape - or make things float and move, or make herself float and move, or make things hotter or cooler, or even vanish and conjure things from existence completely (though she could never create anything living, food, water, or real money). Iris - so learned in school and science - considered magic to be the basic restructuring of matter to suit the user's whims, though it seemed to come particularly strongly during moments of extreme emotion from the user. She'd had to learn to carefully control her emotions, in order to avoid her powers being found out.

Everything suddenly landed back on the counter just as her Aunt Petunia came in briskly. "Oh, good, you've already started," she said matter of factly. "Very nicely done, Iris darling." She smiled and gave Iris a gentle touch on the back on the way by. Aunt Petunia seemed to become more affectionate as the years passed, but only when Iris obeyed her very set idea of the world and how little girls should be. She was also a horrible gossip who loved bragging about her "excellent relationship with her niece" to her friends, bridge partners, and neighbors while Uncle Vernon went to work for the day at his company.

So Iris enjoyed compliments from her aunt, they made her feel very warm, yet she realized they came at a cost. And when she did something her aunt disapproved of, Aunt Petunia could be… very fearsome. So Iris's relationship with her aunt was… complicated.

The Dursleys had their flaws. Yet Iris knew they did love her, in their own weird way. She'd talked about this with Dudley, who agreed but said, "Yeah, but… they still treat us like we're robots." He'd given one of his quiet little frowns. Dudley was probably Iris's closest friend.

Aunt Petunia went to go wake up her husband and son. Uncle Vernon came down next, finding Iris had already placed the morning newspaper and a steaming cup of coffee at his place at the table. He smiled fondly. Uncle Vernon's expectations for Iris were actually very high compared to his expectations for most women - that was to say, he thought she had a good chance of making it above the rank of secretary or temp. He liked her neat, controlled, orderly, chore abiding, and accomplished. "What are you making?" he asked curiously.

"Blueberry-coconut pancakes," said Iris matter of factly, expressionless. Uncle Vernon sat down to his paper and coffee.

Dudley came in the kitchen next with his mother. "Hey, squirt," he said, coming over to his tiny cousin. "Need any help?"

"Don't be ridiculous, it's your birthday," said Iris, putting the pancakes onto plates.

"Yes, Dudley dear, come open your presents," called Aunt Petunia. Birthday money was always split evenly between Dudley's birthday and Iris's birthday, which meant they each got a small mound of presents on the day of. They learned to cherish what they got more, because funds were firmly limited. Then Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always took Dudley out somewhere for the day.

Iris, of course, got no trip of the kind. She was always left behind to do chores with Mrs Figg on Dudley's birthday. She'd always felt a private kind of resentment over this, though she'd never allowed herself to outwardly express it. That would not go well.

Iris put the plates of breakfast on the table, everyone sang Dudley happy birthday, and he began to open his presents. He got a few new video games, some new sports equipment, and a racing bike. (Iris usually got clothes, scented stuff, cookbooks, gardening magazines, and CDs of classical music - or occasionally a new set of dance shoes or pair of skates. Her ultimate dream was to get a chocolate cake for her birthday, but that dream seemed very distant.) He got a card from his parents, and then a separate card from Iris that Aunt Petunia had paid for.

"Aunt Petunia," said Iris, "do you want me to water the garden before you leave?" She wanted to go upstairs and scribble down a new songwriting idea before hiding it underneath the loose floorboard, but she couldn't say that.

"Yes, why don't you -" Suddenly, Aunt Petunia's cell phone rang. "I'll be right back," she said, and walked out into the hall to answer the call. She came back a few minutes later, looking worried. "Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs Figg has broken her leg and she doesn't want Iris to come over today."

Iris looked up hopefully. "Could I stay here while you guys go -?"

"No," said Aunt Petunia brusquely, and turned back to Uncle Vernon. They began talking over her head and deciding her day for her. And Iris sat there, resentful and expressionless. Dudley gave her a sympathetic sidelong look.

"We could phone Marge." Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister; she bred bulldogs out in the country and was very good friends with an ex military man.

"She'd have to take a day-long train to get here."

"What about what's her name, your friend - Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca. I don't know anyone else well enough to ask them," said Aunt Petunia, frowning. "I suppose we could take her to the zoo with us… and leave her in the car…"

"Come on, Mum," said Dudley quietly. "Just let her come with us to the zoo. It's one time, what harm will it do?"

Aunt Petunia looked torn, biting her lip. She wanted Iris to come, but didn't want to encourage anything that could lead to magic. Iris waited on tenterhooks, feeling hopeful she'd actually be able to go somewhere today -

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's eyes met. Uncle Vernon shrugged. "I don't see what else we could do with her," he admitted. "She can't stay in a hot car alone in the summertime for six hours."

"... Alright," Aunt Petunia relented. "She can come."

A smile crossed Iris's face, a genuine one, not one of the ones she put on for Uncle Vernon's clients at dinner parties. And this was a rare sight indeed. Inside, she was jumping up and down in triumph.

* * *

So they got in the car and drove through Surrey city to the zoo. Uncle Vernon grumbled to Aunt Petunia about crazy drivers and stupid coworkers, and Dudley and Iris played silly games of rock paper scissors and I Spy.

It was a sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley a large chocolate ice cream at the entrance and then, defying his parents calmly in a remarkable display of IDGAF, Dudley ordered a second chocolate ice cream for himself and gave it to Iris. His parents looked like they weren't sure whether or not they should scold him, but Iris gave Dudley a second, rare smile, one reserved just for him.

Dudley acted, as usual, as Iris's personal bodyguard and crowd buffer for the remainder of the afternoon. He muscled her through people as they went from display to display of animals, and Iris had a great time observing the fascinating creatures and reading the little plaques attached to each enclosure. She was genuinely happy.

Vernon and Petunia privately remarked to each other that this wasn't so bad. What exactly about watching a bunch of animals threatened magic?

They ate in the hilariously expensive zoo restaurant, and then after lunch they went to the reptile house. "Iris is going to stay out here with me," Aunt Petunia mandated, standing with lace gloved hands folded in front of her flowery dress before the reptile house. "Girls don't like snakes."

But Iris had never had any particular fear of snakes, bees, or spiders, and she was remembering the future dream of the big brown snake. "Actually… can I go in?" she asked, in a rare show of open defiance. The Dursleys stared. "Dudley can look after me," said Iris, as Aunt Petunia's lips pursed in disapproval.

"... Alright," said Aunt Petunia at last, and Iris went into the reptile house behind Uncle Vernon and Dudley. It was cold and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Iris walked around and around, until at last she found it - a massive, gleaming brown Brazilian boa constrictor, the same snake from her dreams.

She stood in front of it, watching, fascinated… as if waiting for something to happen.

And sure enough, something did. The snake had been relaxed, facing the wall, but all of a sudden it lifted its head and turned, fixing her with a beady golden stare. It raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Iris's.

It winked.

"... Hello," Iris whispered uncertainly, and immediately felt foolish.

But: "Hello." The snake had opened its mouth and spoken back, in a low, male, hissing voice. Iris realized she felt that same prickling up and down the back of her neck. Magic. "Speaker." The snake nodded his head. "How did you know to find me?"

"I - I saw it in a dream," Iris said, still caught off guard.

"Ah, a Speaker and a Seer. You have been doubly blessed," said the boa constrictor.

"Have you ever met anyone else like me?" Iris asked.

"No," the snake admitted, shaking his head. "I have heard only rumors. But I have not gone far. I was bred here and I have never left this tank."

"I think I'm like you," Iris admitted. "I never knew my parents either. And I feel… trapped." She had never admitted this to someone before. "I always wanted to know them. My parents, I mean. I don't know anything about them."

"And I have always wanted to visit my home country of Brazil," the boa constrictor sighed. "Yet I know nothing about that. I suppose neither of us get what we want."

"Whoa!" Iris turned, surprised, to find Dudley standing there, looking impressed. "Look at that snake!" he exclaimed, and hurried over to gasp in awe beside her at the reared snake.

Iris stepped back into the shadows, and the opportunity to talk was lost.

* * *

Iris fell asleep to another stand-up comedy routine and ASMR video, and that night, she had a very strange Seer's dream.

A letter came looming up before her, floating bigger and bigger, decorated with the insignia of a castle. She woke up feeling confused. An important letter was coming, that much was certain… but what did a castle have to do with anything?

She couldn't ask anyone about it. Her aunt and uncle didn't even like her talking about regular dreams. God forbid they find out about the Seer's dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

"Alright, children - have a good summer - good luck in your future school career - don't get yourselves killed before it starts -" the sixth form teacher was saying. Children were sitting forward in their seats eagerly. "SCHOOL'S OUT!"

The bell rang and everyone swarmed en masse toward the door. Summer had officially begun.

Iris and Dudley stood up together, and as they passed through the door they felt a deep sigh of relief.

* * *

Iris continued her hobbies over the summer holiday: piano, voice, violin, figure skating, dancing, and gourmet cooking. So she was kept quite busy. But she also had something else to prepare for.

Secondary school was coming, and she and Dudley were both going away to separate schools, each of them a fancy boarding school. Dudley was worried that he wouldn't be able to protect Iris anymore, but Iris was excited.

Away from all three of the Dursleys, even if she loved them, she might finally be able to have her freedom and pursue her ambitions.

One day, Aunt Petunia took Dudley and Iris to London to go shopping for school uniforms. They walked around London, taking in the long, bustling roads full of shops and the magnificent old-fashioned architecture.

They each bought their uniforms, and that evening they were to parade around the living room in the uniforms before Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, showing off their new look. Uncle Vernon became gruff and proud, and Aunt Petunia started crying.

"We'll still be home for holidays, you know," said Iris worriedly.

"Oh, I know, I know," Aunt Petunia sobbed, looking away. "I'm being silly."

Petunia was privately thinking that she had done it - she had saved Iris from her magic, the way she couldn't for Lily. Iris hadn't displayed accidental magic since she was a toddler. Vernon and Petunia were sending Iris away because if she didn't get a letter this summer, they no longer had anything to worry about.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, they heard the click of the mail slot and the flop of letters on the doormat. Aunt Petunia went into the hall to get the mail, came back, handed Uncle Vernon a bill and a postcard from Aunt Marge (who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight), and then said casually, "Iris, you have a letter."

Aunt Petunia proceeded to open the letter for her, like she did for all of Iris's mail, and her eyes widened. Her face went white. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon!" she gasped out.

Uncle Vernon stood and grabbed the letter to read it, frowning. His face went from purple to red to green to the same greyish-white as Aunt Petunia's. It was remarkable how quickly his expression changed.

"Both of you," he croaked to Dudley and Iris, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope, "get out."

"But what is it -?" Iris began curiously.

"Get out!" Uncle Vernon had never shouted at her before. "Go to your rooms!" Stunned, they stood and went upstairs. Iris paused on the landing and saw Uncle Vernon standing in the kitchen doorway, staring hard at Iris as though he'd never quite seen her before.

* * *

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon visited Iris that night in her bedroom, standing over her.

"Iris," Uncle Vernon began cautiously, "have you recently noticed anything… odd? Out of sorts? Unnatural? Peculiar?"

"You know you can tell us anything," said Aunt Petunia breathlessly.

Iris thought of the Seer's dreams, the talking snake, the magic, the songs hidden underneath the very floorboards they were standing on.

"No," said Iris, politely puzzled. "I can't think of anything. I mean, besides the trip to London. Everything else has been very ordinary. I've just… been doing my hobbies."

It wasn't technically a lie. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked disappointed.

* * *

Whatever the letter had been, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed to have decided to ignore it. The only difference was that Dudley and Iris were no longer allowed to go near the mail slot.

But this didn't stop the letters for Iris from coming. One arrived the next day, three arrived the day after that. Uncle Vernon nailed up the mail slot, so twelve of them came in pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the window in the downstairs bathroom. Uncle Vernon boarded up the front and back doors so no one and nothing could get in or out, so the letters came hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milk man handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon destroyed each and every letter in new and creative ways: burning them, tearing them up, shredding them in the food processor. And they just kept coming.

Finally, on Sunday - the day when no mail ever arrived - there was a great rumbling in the kitchen and then thirty or forty letters suddenly came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets while they were all at breakfast.

As everyone was running out with their arms over their faces, Iris grabbed a letter covertly in mid-flight while it was right next to her waistline, and slipped it into her pocket to read later.

She remembered the Seer's dream about a coming letter involving a castle.

* * *

Uncle Vernon was running to the end of his patience.

He commanded all of them to pack some clothes because they were going away. "How long?" Iris asked.

"A while," he growled, glaring at her.

So they packed some clothes and toiletries into bags, took their electronics with them, and then minutes later they had forced their way through the boarded up doors and were in the car speeding toward the highway.

Uncle Vernon drove for a long time, never stopping to eat or drink, suddenly turning at random intervals and driving in the opposite direction for a while. It was like he was running from something - the letter writers, perhaps? What could possibly be so threatening about a letter? Was their family being threatened?

But then… why would the letters have been addressed to Iris?

Iris was thoroughly confused (and very thirsty) by the time they arrived at some dank, musty, cheap hotel in a city called Cokeworth. Dudley and Iris got a pair of twin beds with moldy old sheets. Iris refused to sleep in them, and instead curled up on the window sill, staring out at the lights of the city.

Dudley said at last, hovering uncertainly by his own bed, "... You should get some sleep."

"I will," Iris whispered, still gazing out the window.

She waited until Dudley was snoring, and then snuck out the letter, turning on the light on her phone. She still hadn't gotten a good look at it.

Miss I. Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

It had no return address and no stamp. The envelope was made of heavy yellowish parchment and the address was written in emerald green ink. She turned the envelope over and saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H. Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus, said tiny Latin letters around the seal.

"Don't poke a sleeping dragon in the eye," she translated in a whisper, confused. She slit the envelope open, and two pieces of parchment fell out. She picked up the first one.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc, Chf Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed of Wizards)

Dear Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Her mind spinning, Iris picked up the other piece of parchment. It was a supplies list, detailing everything she would need for Hogwarts: robes, spellbooks, a cauldron, and a magic wand, among other things. Perhaps… perhaps Hogwarts was a castle? A boarding school?

And Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were plainly taking this very seriously. Petrified of magic of all kinds, they didn't want her becoming a witch. Because that was what Iris was. A witch.

She sat very still for a full minute, before she heard a gentle tapping at the window. An owl was fluttering there expectantly. Of course. If they still used robes, parchment, and ink, it only made sense that they would also still use messenger birds! She wasn't sure how it had found her - magic, perhaps, or perhaps Hogwarts was also sending letters to her in Cokeworth.

Iris crept over to the bedstand, careful not to wake Dudley up, and brought out a piece of stationery and a pen. She scribbled down a note on it.

Dear Professor McGonagall,

This is Iris Potter. I would love to come to Hogwarts, but I need help. My aunt and uncle are trying to keep me from becoming a witch; they have stolen me and run away with me. We are in Cokeworth tonight, but I don't know where we'll be tomorrow.

I'm scared. Please, could you send someone to come find me in person?

Iris Potter

She hoped that was enough. She took the note, brought it out to the owl, opening the window carefully in a spurt of magic. The owl took the letter in its beak, and she whispered, "Take this directly to Professor McGonagall. No one else must read it."

The owl cocked its head, then gave a little nod and flew away.

Iris sealed the window shut again with magic, and put the Hogwarts acceptance letter, envelope, and supplies list carefully at the bottom of her bag.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was storming the halls of Hogwarts, furious, a piece of Muggle paper held in her hand. She barked the password at the stone gargoyle, stormed the revolving staircase, and slammed into the headmaster's office.

"Dumbledore!" she snapped, standing in front of him. "I just received word from Iris Potter on her Hogwarts acceptance!" Minerva got a bit sarcastic when she was angry. She threw the letter down in front of Professor Dumbledore.

"... Ah," said Dumbledore, after he had finished reading it. He looked unsurprised.

"Dumbledore, what on earth is going on?!" Minerva McGonagall demanded.

"I… have been having Hagrid send her repeated Hogwarts letters. None of them are reaching her. I was going to send him after her personally soon," said Dumbledore.

"I always told you those Muggles were no good! I told you the moment you left her with them!" McGonagall was flushed, shaking a finger; she was very unlike her usual self. "And, sending Hagrid?" she asked contemptuously. "No, that's no good. Hagrid means well, but she needs a true introduction to the wizarding world from an expert source!

"She needs me.

"I'll go after her. As I do for all the other Muggleborns." Minerva lifted her chin defiantly.

"... Very well, then, Minerva," said Dumbledore at last, looking at her solemnly over the top of his half moon glasses. "Time is of the essence. I have talked with the Minister. You are allowed to temporarily use magic in Muggle areas to track Iris Potter, and you are allowed to use magical force to introduce her into the wizarding world. Once she is safely with you, you are no longer allowed to do magic in Muggle areas. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Minerva, and she turned sharply on her heel to leave.

"Oh, and Minerva." McGonagall paused. "She will have to go back to them. They are her legal guardians."

Minerva's teeth gritted. "Yes, sir," she forced out, stiff and angry, and she left.

Albus Dumbledore sighed. This may have just cost him a friendship. And this affair with Iris Potter was not going at all the way he'd planned. First Iris was mistreated in an entirely different way from what he'd expected. And now Hagrid was not going out to tell a biased version of events after a child begging for love. Minerva, too, would be far less likely to show bias openly toward a specific house. She was far too official for that.

At the very least, Iris was still with the Dursleys. And she had every reason to want to become a witch. That part of the plan was still secure.

* * *

Iris, so good at repressing her feelings, made no show of emotion the next morning at breakfast when the owner of the hotel came up and said they had a hundred letters for Iris Potter at the front desk. Well, she thought, that was where the owl was from.

Uncle Vernon left to "take care of them" and came back empty-handed. Then they drove. And they drove. Everyone was a little afraid of a dark and silent Uncle Vernon - even Aunt Petunia was timid when she suggested simply going home. Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her.

He kept stopping them at random abandoned places, getting out, looking around, shaking his head, and getting back inside the car to drive again. At last, he stopped at the coast and locked them all inside the car. Then he disappeared. It began to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. There was a suffocating silence within.

Iris was thinking of the date. Tomorrow would be 31 July - her eleventh birthday, but also the deadline for announcing an acceptance at Hogwarts. Surely the owl must be there by now?

Maybe she wouldn't get a response, she thought, depressed. Maybe they'd abandoned her. She considered unlocking herself with magic and running away - but she was too afraid to leave her aunt and uncle, and anyway, where would she go? Would she become homeless?

Uncle Vernon came back with a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought. He took them all out to sea on a little rowboat, in the blinding, chilly rain and bobbing, iron-grey water, until at last they arrived at a rock. Slipping and sliding, he led them to a shack on top of the rock. It had only two rooms, and the sofa unfolded into a camp bed for Dudley and Iris. It was very hard to lay on.

They all had a bag of chips each and four bananas and then, still hungry, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia went off to the lumpy bed next door and they all tried to go to sleep. Uncle Vernon had said there was no way the letter-writer could get to them in here, and Iris privately agreed, but the thought was very depressing.

She lay and stared at her phone's clock, watching 31 July tick nearer, wondering if anything good would ever happen to her at all. The clock hit midnight.

Then suddenly the door was slammed off its hinges in a burst of light and a tremendous force, and a tall woman with a bun of black hair was standing there, holding a long strip of wood out in front of her like a sword - a magic wand.

"Miss Potter?" said the woman, all business, walking into the shack wearing a formal business suit. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. We received your letter. I have come to liberate you, so to speak."

Suddenly, there was a crash and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room, holding a rifle. Now they knew what was in the long, thin package he'd brought with him. Professor McGonagall waved her wand, and the rifle turned into a feather. It floated slowly to the ground.

Uncle Vernon just had time go pale before a second jet of light hit him and Aunt Petunia and they went flying against the far wall with a thud. Professor McGonagall strode over, pointing her wand directly in their faces.

"I specialize in Transfiguration," she said in a steely voice, "the art of turning something into something else. I suggest you keep still, silent, and agreeable, because although I am not usually an expressive woman, it would make me positively giddy to turn you both into farm animals."

Aunt Petunia gasped in fear, hiding behind her husband, and for a moment Uncle Vernon looked very feeble. So that, Iris thought, was the kind of power a grown witch had.

Professor McGonagall walked over to the sofa and Dudley got in front of Iris firmly - but Iris touched his shoulder, awed. "No, it's okay, Duddy," she whispered, smiling. "She's - she's here for me."

"Quite right," said Professor McGonagall, giving her first smile. "Hello, Miss Potter."


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Notes: I was listening to "Assembly Line" by Mary Lambert while writing this chapter. Because it fits this section, yes it does._

* * *

4.

"Now," said Professor McGonagall firmly, "I'm sure you have questions for me. I will endeavor to answer them as best I can. We call non magical people, such as your family, Muggles. There are plenty of wizards and witches out there called Muggleborns. You, however, are not a Muggleborn - your parents were a witch and wizard. Your aunt and uncle hid this from you, I take it?"

Iris's eyes widened. Uncle Vernon gave a kind of squeak from the corner.

"I see," said McGonagall, lips tightening and nostrils flaring in a tightly controlled kind of anger. "You know nothing. Very well then. Luckily for you, it is my job to explain magic to all Muggleborn witches and wizards, as I am the deputy headmistress. So, to wit -"

She waved her wand and two armchairs magically appeared before the damp, empty fireplace. She waved her wand again and a warm fire blazed in the grate. "If you will please take a seat?" said McGonagall, waving. "I absolutely refuse to be uncomfortable as we talk."

Iris sat uncertainly down in the armchair in her nightgown, and Professor McGonagall began pulling an impossible number of things out of her coat pocket: a kettle full of water, two mugs, and two teabags. She put the kettle on to boil and settled herself down in the armchair opposite Iris, still quite matter of fact and dignified about the whole thing.

"To begin," said Professor McGonagall. "There is a whole world of wizards and witches out there, a world hidden from the Muggle one. We hide in pockets among Muggle places. To travel from pocket to pocket, there are several methods, but the most convenient one for you would be the bus route. Once you have a wand, you can stick out your wand arm, and a wizarding bus will magically appear, a bus that can take you anywhere in the country.

"However, for adults, there is also Apparition - you would call it teleportation - though never around Muggles. There is Flooing - traveling from wizarding fireplace to wizarding fireplace - electricity only works around magic if enchanted to, so we use fires for lighting and heating. And there are Portkeys - inanimate objects magicked to take whoever is touching them to a specific place at a specific time, mostly used by the Ministry to stagger magical entrance to Quidditch games and concerts and other such things. Quidditch is a sport. It's played on flying broomsticks.

"Yes, there is a Ministry of Magic. Its center is hidden deep in London. There is also a prison - Azkaban is an island fortress guarded by Dark creatures called Dementors.

"Hogwarts is where wizards and witches go to school. It's a medieval castle in Scotland, a boarding school, running on a seven-year-training system. The longer you're in school, the better your job prospects will be. It's built on ancient Celtic ground. The Druids were talented wand makers and scholars, very important to British wizarding past.

"Jobs in the wizarding world are much like jobs in the Muggle world. You can be a politician, work for the government, work for the bank, be a journalist or a teacher or a private tutor for children under eleven years old, be a Healer for the hospital, go into the merchant sector, go into the arts, go into sports, and a number of other jobs with Muggle equivalents. Aurors are another job with a Muggle equivalent - they go after Dark wizards and witches, or wizards and witches who perform violent, illegal acts.

"However, there are also wizarding jobs. You could be a Potioneer for the Apothecaries, for example - that's rather like a Muggle pharmacy - or go into magical research for the Department of Mysteries. There are professional Seers, Arithmancers, Duelists, Alchemists, and many other magical jobs.

"The wizarding world is a blend of the old and new. We wear robes and Victorian style clothes, have old fashioned housing, mostly small businesses, use quills and ink and parchment, messenger birds and fireplaces. However, we also have coffee, tattoos, hair dye, technomagic - technology charmed to work around magic - along with modern music, record players, and many other aspects of modern life.

"So you will spend seven years at Hogwarts, summers with your aunt and uncle, and then you will move completely into the wizarding world and find housing and a job." Professor McGonagall handed Iris her cup of tea.

"She will not be going to that blasted -!" Uncle Vernon began, gaining his courage back, and Professor McGonagall pointed her wand without looking and a jet of red light slammed into the wall right next to Uncle Vernon's head, leaving it burning and sizzling.

"Mr Dursley," McGonagall sighed, "do shut up."

Uncle Vernon fell silent.

"Now that you have a good idea of the wizarding world, my job is to tell you about your past," said McGonagall. Iris turned sharply back around to the Professor. She'd almost forgotten the Dursleys were there, and now she forgot again, immersing herself once more in tales of the magical world.

"To begin with, let me give you some history," said McGonagall. "The wizarding world did not separate from the Muggle one until the medieval witch burnings. The Ministry was created, and it instituted the International Statute of Secrecy. Wizards and witches are commanded to act and dress as ordinarily as possible in the presence of Muggles.

"This was mainly instituted because while most wizards and witches could escape Muggle clutches, Muggles did often used to set fire to wizarding children. That's why wizards are so accepting of various races, religions, genders, and sexualities - they know what it's like to be discriminated against. Some wizards and witches became very insulated here in our own little world. They have trouble letting go of the past.

"There was a Dark wizard named Lord Voldemort. He gathered an army of such people around him, mostly old blueblood Pureblood families and Dark creatures, and began a rebellion to overthrow the Ministry. Privately his goal was immortality. Publicly his goal was to destroy all Muggles and Muggleborns - kill them. He wanted everything to do with Muggles wiped from the face of the planet.

"He killed so many people in horrible ways that most wizards and witches are still afraid to even speak his name. He was the epitome of a Dark wizard.

"Your parents were a witch and wizard, James and Lily Potter. Your mother was a Muggleborn, hence why she had a Muggle sister. You have her eyes. Your father was a Pureblood. It caused quite the scandal, really, their marriage.

"They fought on the side of the Light and the Ministry, defending Muggles and Muggleborns. They were so powerful they became targets, and so they went into hiding, where they gave birth to you. But Lord Voldemort found their hiding place on Halloween night, one of the most powerfully magical holidays. He broke into your house, and killed your parents in front of you. Then he tried to kill you.

"But it didn't work. No one knows why. The Killing Curse is supposed to be unblockable, and he was very good at it. The curse rebounded off your forehead, leaving you with a curse scar, and hit Voldemort. His body was never found; he just… disappeared.

"Without him, his entire side fell apart, and the Light won the war. You're famous in our world. They call you the Girl Who Lived. Dumbledore, your future headmaster, who led the war effort, left you with the Dursleys so you could avoid getting a swelled head. We see where that got you," said McGonagall sarcastically.

Something very painful was going on inside Iris's mind. As McGonagall's story drew to a close, she had a sudden flashback - of a flash of green light, a burning pain on her forehead, and a high, cold, cruel laugh.

The Killing Curse was green. He'd been laughing as he'd killed them.

"Look, you." The growl came from the corner. McGonagall, Iris, and Dudley - who'd also been riveted by the story - all whirled around to see Uncle Vernon come from the shadows. "We raised her perfectly well," he said darkly, "no thanks to any of you. We stamped the magic out of her; we made sure she was nothing like her parents! She's a good, sensible girl and she's not going to that rubbish school. She's going to a nice, normal boarding school and becoming a well adjusted human being! She doesn't even want to go with any of you -!"

"She wrote me a letter herself," said McGonagall calmly. "She said she was afraid of you. She asked for help."

The Dursleys were stunned into silence.

"Iris, darling!" Petunia suddenly cried desperately. "We've always taken good care of you, haven't we?! You don't want to go off and become like my freak of a sister, do you?! You owe us, after all we've done for you, you owe us -!"

"NO I DON'T!"

The Dursleys stared at her. Iris had stood, breathing hard; the scream had come from her.

"You did what anyone raising a child ought to do, and nothing more! I was never allowed to do or eat anything fun! I was never allowed to go out anywhere on my birthday! I never had friends! You lied to me about my parents! I never made any decisions for myself -!"

"We were trying to protect you!" Uncle Vernon spat.

"Protect me from what?!" Iris shrieked. Everything she'd repressed for years, it all suddenly came spilling out. "I was never allowed to be my own person! I was a carbon copy of the perfect little daughter you always wanted to have! I'm not some little porcelain doll you can bend to your will. I'm a human being. I have flaws.

"And that's not love, what you did to me and Dudley. Controlling everything about our lives. You may think it's love, but it's not. It's some weird facsimile of love -" Iris took a deep breath, her face twisted. "And I no longer need it.

"I was afraid. For a long time, I was afraid to speak. I was afraid to break the mold. But not anymore!

"I want to go to Hogwarts! I want to become a witch! I'm going with McGonagall and you can't stop me!"

There was a stunned silence.

Then Petunia screeched - Vernon roared and charged at Iris with his arms out - Dudley jumped between his cousin and his father - and there was a flash of violet light -

In Vernon's place was a pig. McGonagall put her wand away, standing calmly.

"Take your pig of a husband and go back to your home," she told Aunt Petunia, who had gone white as a sheet. "I'll Transfigure him back when I take Iris back home with her wizarding goods. I will keep in regular contact with her, and if you ever try to stop her from going to Hogwarts, I will know."

She turned to Iris. "Come with me," she said. "We're going to a real hotel." And she walked to the door.

"Can Dudley come?" Iris asked.

But Aunt Petunia gasped tearfully. "No - no - Duddy - please -"

"Nah," said Dudley at last, smiling sadly. "Someone has to stay with my Mum."

Dudley and Iris stood, looking at each other. They both knew - this was where they parted ways.

"Well, I protected you as long as I could," he said at last. "But it looks like pretty soon, you won't need my protection anymore, squirt."

Iris suddenly reached out, and hugged her cousin. "Thanks, Dudley," she said quietly. She took up her bag of clothes and technology and walked away, stopping by Aunt Petunia and the pig. "Goodbye," she said.

She walked to the door with McGonagall, and went through it with her into the storm. She didn't look back.

McGonagall grabbed her arm and turned. Iris felt like she was being sucked down a very long, tight, narrow tube, and then all of a sudden she was standing in front of a very nice hotel on a coastal city.

"Now, Miss Potter." Iris turned to Professor McGonagall, who smiled once more. "Shall we get you dressed, then go to a nice restaurant and get you a slice of chocolate birthday cake?" Iris smiled back.

The Dursleys watched as Iris Potter disappeared from the hut on the rock.


End file.
